Get Cuffed by C.M. Kars

Author:C.M. Kars [C.M. Kars]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: C.M. Kars
Published: 2022-06-16T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

American Thanksgiving…

The big day has finally arrived, and I don’t even want to go anywhere.

The first few weeks of November flew by, and even though we finally get to turn the clocks forward for Daylight Savings Time (and thus get a whole extra hour of sleep!), my days have been busier than ever.

I’ve been stuck between patients, and then staff meetings with the owners of our office building, wrapping everything up so we can move offices once we come back from the holidays (since we’re closing in mid-December through to New Year’s Day).

Time’s passed me by without clocking the days.

Before I know it, American Thanksgiving is here, and I want to dress up. I even do some sort of an elaborate eyeshadow look that’ll make Max want to talk to me, even if it’s just to discuss application techniques, or color stories, or which eyeshadow palette I used.

I take my time with it, using deep, chocolate browns to enhance the blue of my eyes, and a duo-chrome shimmer on my eyelids from one of my favorite Canadian indie makeup brands (as per Max’s recommendation).

I wear my comfiest jeans (i.e. not skinnies), and make sure I’m wearing a belt that can easily be loosened and that I’ve got a billowing shirt on top (flannel on flannel ’cause it’s starting to freeze out there and I hate winter with a passion), so I can inconspicuously pop the button of my jeans when I inevitably eat too much.

I fluff up my hair, the soft waves already falling, grab my sunnies to deal with the bright, harsh sunlight on this particular Saturday (we always celebrate on a Saturday, even though the actual Thanksgiving holiday happens on a Thursday, of all days—weird). I stuff my feet into my boots, grab my wool coat, and head outside of my house, where Brody, and his car, have been idling at the curb right in front of my house.

On the one hand, I like that he’s driving us to my aunt’s, because driving after eating too much is a special kind of torture. Basically, all you can concentrate on really is the pain in your stomach as your body fights to digest the practically insurmountable amount of food you’ve given it.

On the other hand, I hate that he’s driving because I don’t have a quick getaway route if I want to get the hell out of there.

The entire family’s going to know that Max, Vick and I are all at each other’s throats, and Evie and Izzy are going to be meddling because that’s what they do as the little cousins, and Brody’s going to be witness to all of this.

I’m already embarrassed, and nothing has even happened yet.

I can just see my mom giving the pair of us heart-eyes, already dreaming of grandbabies loud enough that I can practically see the imaginary babies floating around her head, like some sort of Looney Tunes character.

For the most part, I love my family, even if they drive me crazy seventy percent of the time (or more, depending on the given day and type of situation).

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